


Nothing is Free

by pl2363



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pl2363/pseuds/pl2363
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz goes to a nearby town looking for a fun night, and ends up trying something new with Deadlock. Setting: Prewar, shortly after Drift was renamed Deadlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing is Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KineticSynergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KineticSynergy/gifts).



> No beta. Grammar abuse and typos ahead. 
> 
> Take tags seriously! 
> 
> No promise this is even in character for them, but meh. It was fun to write?
> 
> Wrote this quickly to fill a prompt given by my friend:  
> Drift/Jazz  
> Hit me with your best shot

From the corner booth in the bar, Jazz quietly observed the bustling room. The gladiator fights had just ended, and the onlookers poured into the local establishment to get their fill and chat about the current reigning champion, Megatron. Sipping his energon, his visored gaze focused in on his first potential  target for the evening.  
  
Being a security officer in nearby Kaon offered it’s own level of excitement, aside from Prowl’s never ending briefings. But it also meant finding a mech to scratch his itches was sometimes thwarted by his position of authority. See, he prefered mechs that were... more of a challenge. Attracted to those that disobeyed the law he was obliged to uphold. He found them more exciting. But they would often  shy away from him when they found out or heard what he did for a living. It was just a lot easier to bop over to a nearby town where no one knew him. Less complications this way.  
  
He sauntered up to the bar beside his chosen mech, and laid his card of credits down on the bartop. The bartender wandered over, pressing a finger to the edge of the offered credit.  
  
“What’ll it be?”  
  
“Two of what my friend here is havin’,” Jazz replied, grinning.  
  
“Frag off,” his target replied.  
  
Hard to get? Perfect. “Name’s Jazz. And why turn down a free drink?”  
  
Piercing red optics gave Jazz a sidelong glance. “Free is never free.”  
  
“Well, the only thing I really wanted in return was to chat a bit. That too high a price?” Jazz asked, canting his head.  
  
His target scowled. “Whatever.”  
  
Jazz nodded to the bartender. “Two.” He slid onto  the stool and leaned an elbow on the bartop. “So what’s your name?”  
  
“Dr--Deadlock.”  
  
“Dr..eadlock?” Jazz asked.  
  
Hissing air from his intakes, Deadlock shook his head. “DEADlock.”  
  
“Ah. Got it. Intimidating name you got there,” Jazz replied.  
  
Deadlock’s posture straightened slightly at the comment, as if he were  trying to look ‘intimidating’. Jazz’s visor allowed his gaze to carefully inspect him without being caught doing do. Small nicks in the crest of his helm meant he boosted at one time. Though,  he seemed sober now. Healing scrapes and dents all over his arms and chest were signs he’d been fighting, and recently. Interesting.  
  
“You take part in the fights?” Jazz asked. Direct and to the point.  
  
“No. Too small for those glad fights. Training to fight for the cause, though,” Deadlock replied.  
  
Interest even more piqued. “Cause?” Jazz asked.  
  
Just then the bartender returned, placing the two glasses of high-grade down, and handing Jazz his card back. Jazz picked up his glass and took a sip, keeping his gaze pinned on Deadlock.  
  
“Fighting for justice for all classes.” Deadlock knocked back the remainder of his original drink, pushed the glass away and pulled the one Jazz purchased for him close, cupping his hand over top.  
  
“Ah, yeah. Been hearing ‘bout all that,” Jazz replied. He sure had. Prowl had gone on at length about the uprising at the morning briefing two days ago. As interesting as it was to meet someone who was openly taking part in the movement, he wasn’t here for work.  
  
Tilting his head just enough to show he was checking out Deadlock’s frame, he took a long, lingering look at him. He was very attractive, despite his rough edges. He had some very nice lines..  
  
“Knew free wasn’t free,” Deadlock said with a snort.  
  
“Heh, ya caught me,” Jazz replied, grinning.  
  
Deadlock raised an optic ridge at Jazz. “Just say what you want so I can say ‘no’.”  
  
Jazz picked up his drink in one hand, taking another sip. May as well be direct and get rebuffed so he could seek out someone else more pliable. “I just wanted to take ya back to my rented room and ‘face you.”  
  
Hand paused mid air with his drink, Deadlock turned his full gaze on Jazz. “Oh really? Anything in particular you had in mind?”  
  
“I’m flexible.” Jazz chuckled. “But I was thinkin’ we could wrestle for who’ll be on top.”  
  
“Top.” Deadlock snorted a laugh then took a swig of his drink. “Sure.”  
  
“Yer in?” Jazz replied, genuinely surprised.  
  
Deadlock grinned and nodded.  
  
…  
  
This was not what Jazz had expected.  
  
After a rather lengthy and very intense wrestling match with Deadlock, he’d found himself front first on the berth, hands held firmly behind him, and Deadlock sitting between his parted legs, leaning his full weight forward to pin Jazz down. Usually Jazz could handle a mech like Deadlock. They were similar in size, and he had far more training in subduing a fellow mech, or so he’d assumed. He hadn’t counted on Deadlock being so slagging quick and agile.  
  
“Heh. So ya got me. Guess I get to bottom?” Jazz twisted his head to glance over his shoulder at Deadlock.  
  
“Ever been tied up?” Deadlock asked.  
  
Jazz tried not to let his surprise at the suggestion cross his face. “Tied up?”  
  
Deadlock nodded. “I bind your arms, and then you tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
“Tell you?” Jazz frowned.  
  
“Yeah. I’ll do anything you ask except untie you,” Deadlock replied.  
  
Jazz considered the offer. He’d never tried something like that before. The security officer in him was reluctant to be that vulnerable with a mech he’d just met, but at the same time the idea of verbally controlling Deadlock was intriguing. “Anything?”  
  
Deadlock nodded.  
  
“So what’s yer deal? I thought we were just gonna roll ‘round and have some fun,” Jazz said, trying to figure out why Deadlock had made such a suggestion.  
  
“None of your business why I want to. You in or am I outta here?” Deadlock replied.  
  
“All right. I’ll play. But I have a lil’ thing to add to the ‘rules’,” Jazz replied.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“After I overload, you untie me,” Jazz replied.  
  
“Hrm.” Deadlock canted his head, pointed finials exaggerating the motion. “All right.”  
  
Having come to terms, Deadlock let go and pulled a binding rope from his subspace pocket. “Sit up,” Deadlock said as he scooted and sat back on his heels.  
  
Jazz maneuvered himself in a seated position, one leg hanging off the berth, the other pulled up to his chest. Positioned to leap off the berth if something went awry. Deadlock wrapped the bind around Jazz’s wrists, tying them behind his back. He twisted his wrists testing how tightly bound he truly was. “Don’t want me gettin’ away, hm?”  
  
“Just like it better if you don’t touch me. So what first?” Deadlock asked.  
  
What did that mean? Jazz wondered. “Gotta work me into this. I’m still reelin’ from our lil’ brawl.”  
  
Deadlock raised an optic ridge. “All right.” He hopped off the berth, and dropped to his knees in front of Jazz. His one hand pushed the dangled leg aside, and he pressed his lips to the sensitive inner side of Jazz’s thigh, eliciting a small shiver. Ghosting his mouth against the plating, Deadlock slowly edged his way toward Jazz’s interface cover. It was certainly a pleasant visual that had the desired effect. Jazz’s core temp jumped.  
  
Pausing, Deadlock looked up at Jazz. “I’ll do whatever you ask,” he said, a teasing edge in his voice.  
  
“I was, uh, just caught up enjoyin’ the show,” Jazz replied. “Heh. Sure, uh, lick maybe?” This certainly felt weird, telling Deadlock what he wanted.  
  
Deadlock’s glossa flicked out, trailing a long line down Jazz’s thigh then swirling over Jazz’s interface cover. He could feel the uncomfortable pressure inside from his hardware onlining. Resisting the urge to pop the cover open, Jazz let air vent is a hiss from his intakes. He lowered the other leg to hang off the berth.  
  
“Otherside?” Jazz asked.  
  
Without skipping a beat, Deadlock’s glossa moved down along the opposing inner thigh. Optics dimmed as he mouthed the sensitive metal surface. Jazz turned his wrists in the binding, wishing he could touch those pretty pointed helm adornments.  
It occurred to Jazz that he could make the show more enjoyable if Deadlock was doing more than just pleasuring him. “You’ll, ah, do anything?”  
  
Pausing, Deadlock nodded.  
  
“Even undoin’ your equipment cover and ah... you know, self satisfyin’?” Jazz asked. Primus, he felt dirty asking.  
  
“Yep.” Deadlock sat back and reached down unclicking his interface cover open, revealing his semi-onlined spike. It was dark grey along the bottom and lighter along the top. Two little lines of red ran like racing stripes down each side.  
  
“That’s one nice-looking spike you got there. You get it customized?” Jazz asked.  
  
“Yeah, long time ago,” Deadlock replied as he curled his hand around it and began to slowly massage it.  
  
“Should undo my cover. Got a custom, too.” Jazz grinned. He was rather proud of his spike’s look. He should be for what it had cost him. He’d saved his credits for quite some time to get the mod he really wanted.  
  
Deadlock half-smiled. “Pop the cover. Let’s a have a look.”  
  
Jazz decompressed the lock, and it snapped back, letting his spike jut out between them. It had a slight curve upward, black colored with a white swirled pattern, which was slightly raised.  
  
“Nice. A ribbing pattern. Those aren’t cheap,” Deadlock said, his red optics sharply focused on Jazz’s spike.  
  
“Saved up fer it,” Jazz replied. “Wanna a taste?” He felt heat flash over his faceplates at his rather crude request.  
  
Deadlock continued to knead his own spike, and without hesitation wrapped his lips around Jazz’s spike. He managed to take most of it into his mouth, his glossa dancing along it’s underside. This mech knew what he was doing for sure. Jazz shivered as he stared at the incredible visual of Deadlock between his legs. Already revving to go, he knew it would all end too soon if he let Deadlock continue.  
  
“Careful now. Don’t wanna overload me too quick, do ya?” Jazz smiled.  
  
Releasing the spike from his lips, Deadlock raised an optic ridge. “Oh? And why not?”  
  
“Those raised parts of the pattern? They’re fer your pleasure.” Jazz’s lust began to override what little modesty he had. “Just imaginin’ you riding me is, ah, nice.”  
  
Deadlock snorted a laugh. “Ridden plenty of spikes like yours.” His gaze dropped down to the extremely erect spike in front of him. “Though, I will admit it’s pretty nice.”  
  
Jazz laughed a little. “Never been in this position before. Askin’ and gettin’.”  
  
“Don’t need to be shy. Just say what you want,” Deadlock replied.  
  
“What I want?” Jazz pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then smiled. “Is to see you unload that pretty spike of yours, then ride me until I come.” Jazz’s faceplates heated again, feeling both embarrassed and turned on at the same time.  
  
“I can do that,” Deadlock replied. He gave a little lick to the tip of Jazz’s spike, causing it to jolt to attention, before he sat back and began to more earnestly work over his own spike.  
  
Jazz pressed his lips together to silently watch.  
  
Deadlock’s fingers spread and contracted around the middle as he rolled a thumb over the head. A look of concentration pinched his facial features as he focused on his given task. He paused to lick his fingertips, then resumed massaging his spike. His body soon began to tremble and his ventilations picked up, air gusting in time with his rhythmic actions. He bowed his head, optics going black as he sped up, hand pumping his spike hard. Jazz’s own spike on point between them, rising as he watched. Suddenly Deadlock threw his head back, mouth gaping open.  
  
“On yourself,” Jazz said quickly.  
  
Curving the spike to angle up, Deadlock grunted as he overloaded. Cycled mech fluid squirting upward and leaving a splatter across his abdomen. Chest arched forward, he stayed like that, holding as his climax finished rolling through him, leaving his entire frame quivering. Then his rigid posture went slack. He rolled his head forward and released his spike, air hissing from his intakes. Red optics dimly lit, focusing on Jazz. “Need a minute.”  
  
Jazz nodded. He had no idea watching someone else get off could be so... arousing. He fidgeted slightly, rolling his wrists against the binding. It was like sweet torture, allowed to look but not touch.  
  
Composing himself, Deadlock pushed to his feet. “Ready?”  
  
Jazz nodded fervently. “Slag, yeah.” He scooted back, trying to figure out how to lay down without pinching his arms behind him.  
  
“Against the wall, sitting,” Deadlock said, pointing.  
  
Nodding at the suggestion, Jazz wriggled back. Deadlock crawled up and straddled his legs in a kneeled position, sinking his fingers into his exposed valve. Black fingers moved in and out, priming for the main event. Jazz was more than ready.  
  
“You okay with me coming inside? I know some prefer not to,” Jazz asked.  
  
“Anything you want,” Deadlock replied, a small, coy smile curving his lips.  
  
Jazz’s visor dimmed. “That’s what I want.”  
  
Deadlock chuckled, then moved close, lowering himself down. Slick heat wrapped around Jazz’s spike. It felt incredible. He couldn’t help the grin that spread over his lips. This is what he’d been waiting for. What he’d craved when he decided to drive on over to Rodion. All the teasing and not being allowed to touch made this moment of contact all the more intense.  
  
Slowly, Deadlock ground his hips over Jazz’s lap.  
  
Jazz moaned. “Slag...”  
  
Grasping Jazz’s shoulders, Deadlock then began rolling his hips forward. In and out of that amazing heated, wet space.  
  
Deadlock had leaned in close, their faces hovering merely an inch or two away from one another. He stared into Deadlock’s handsome face, scarred, hardened, and yet filled with hope. The look of someone who had obviously been to Pit and back. He was beautiful to Jazz.  
  
The focus in Deadlock’s optics softened as he began to pick up his pace. Blissful-looking, enjoying himself as much as Jazz was. Jazz wished he could touch Deadlock, run his hands over his powerful, yet sleek frame.  
  
“Forgot--,” Deadlock said, his vents hitching as he tried to speak.  
  
“Forgot?” Jazz asked, his voice low and raw.  
  
“Ribbing feels slagging good,” Deadlock finished saying with a smile.  
  
Jazz chuckled. “Glad ya like it.”  
  
Deadlock’s fingers tightened on Jazz’s shoulders, his tempo increasing. Jazz could feel himself edging closer and closer to overloading. Heat volleyed between their frames, and he twisted his wrists against the binding they were in, helpless to free himself. His spike, rigid and ready for release held back by sheer will alone. He wanted to see Deadlock come first.  
  
“You come first,” Jazz said, his voice crackling.  
  
As if on command, Deadlock stiffened and threw his head back again. A sound that was a cross between grunting and groaning escaped his vocalizer as his valve tightened with almost the strength of a hand over Jazz’s spike. Cycled mech fluid escaped, filling his partner’s body. Jazz cried out, the overload sharp and hot as it rolled through him, leaving him shuddering in the aftermath. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time it had been that intense for him.  
  
Sinking back against the wall, Jazz’s systems were humming, working to expel the heat. Deadlock hissed as he lifted himself up and off Jazz’s lap, and then sat back on his heels beside Jazz. They were both silent for a long moment as they recovered some measure of composure.  
  
Uncomfortable with long stretches of silence, though, Jazz turned his gaze to Deadlock. “I think I earned that whole bein’ untied thing.”  
  
Red optics shifted their focus to Jazz, and Deadlock half smiled. “You did.” He leaned closer and Jazz sat forward, allowing him to remove the binding.  
  
Freed, Jazz stretched his arms in front of him, rolling his wrists. “So really, what’s the deal with the no touchin’? You didn’t mind when we were wrestlin’.”  
  
Deadlock’s gaze hardened. “Wrestling is different than ‘facing.”  
  
“True. And I admit I did like it. But, ah, I like feelin’ warm, smooth plating under my fingers, too,” Jazz said.  
  
Slipping off the berth, Deadlock snapped his interface cover back in place. He was a mess, covered in his own cycled mech fluid, with Jazz’s smeared on his thighs. He tucked the binding back in his subspace, and started toward the door.  
  
“Don’t ya wanna get cleaned up? There’s a washrack here. Maybe we could mess around again after a bit?” Jazz asked.  
  
Deadlock shook his head. “No thanks.”  
  
Jazz moved to the edge of the berth. “Not enjoy yourself?”  
  
“I did.” Deadlock then tapped the release and the door whooshed open. He stepped out, not caring one whit about his appearance as he left.  
  
“Weird mech, “ Jazz said to himself. “Awesome time, though.” He’d definitely be back around next time he wanted an itch scratched to find Deadlock again.


End file.
